I Want to Make Music

I listen...

The sounds touch me.

The rhythm is innately familiar to me... vital to me...

I remember it well.

Then new sounds, I hear.

Not all pleasant, but not all horrid.

They're faint, muffled, obscured.

They become clearer to me as time goes on.

Suddenly, all in a rush, they become clearer.

There's a rhythm to it all,

Even if it's in syncopated chaos.

I try to make sense of it all.

The taps.

The dings.

The whistles.

The sighs.

The shrieks.

The hums.

Those lullabies.

Then, a most beautiful sound arises from the cacophony.

The coherently beautiful string of pitches.

Noise that happens to be pleasing to the ear.

"I want to play," I told myself.

It was tough, but I discovered my first love.

The wood.

The metal.

The strings.

The ivory.

The ebony.

And mechanical things.

It took a while to get acquainted.

Then, finally, it became stronger,

My love of the piano.

My thirst for sound.

My sheer, innate need for music.

 

I listen...

The sounds touch me.

The rhythm is innately familiar to me... vital to me...

I remember it well....

 

 

The End

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